


Madeline and the Ghost in the Garden

by Cinaed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Madeline - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Ghosts, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One holiday, Madeline takes Pepito home to visit the family ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madeline and the Ghost in the Garden

**Author's Note:**

> I think I can't blame anyone for this but myself, to be honest.

"Do you remember Monsieur de La Morte?" Madeline asks.

She and Pepito are standing in the long hallway of her family’s house at Rue des Filles-du Calvaire No. 6. It’s dark. Madeline’s lantern casts strange shadows upon the nearby portraits; their eyes stare down at Pepito in disapproval. He wishes, a little uneasily, squirming in his bright yellow night-clothes, that he hadn’t let Madeline drag him out of bed. 

It seemed like an exciting adventure, exploring Madeline’s house after midnight, but that was before he realized how strange the house would look by lantern-light, how cold the floor would feel beneath his bare toes. 

When Madeline makes an impatient little sound, Pepito realizes he hasn’t answered her question. He blinks at her. She’s teasing him, he decides after a moment, because meeting a ghost — even one more interested in the stars than in haunting people like a proper ghost should — is not something one’s likely to forget.

"Yes," he says after a moment, slowly. He looks at her disapproving ancestors again. He tries to sound curious rather than nervous as he asks, "Is your house haunted?" 

Madeline wrinkles her nose and looks at him in that half-pitying way of hers when she thinks he’s said something stupid. ”No,” she says. “Grand-père doesn’t  _haunt_  anyone. He just lives with us in the garden.” She raises the lantern. The light catches upon her hair; for a second it looks like her hair is aflame. Then she turns and marches down the hallway.

Pepito hesitates for a second or two. He looks at the stern-faced men and women in the portraits and wonders which of them is her grand-père. Perhaps it is only the artist who made them solemn, he thinks hopefully. He has seen the painting of Madeline’s grandparents, Madame and Monsieur Pontmercy, their unsmiling faces, their serious eyes, when Madeline’s father’s stories are all of how his parents filled the house with laughter and happiness.   

"Pepito!" comes the impatient whisper, and he shakes off his unease and follows.  

 

* * *

 

Pepito’s heartbeat sounds very loud in his ears as Madeline pushes open the gate to the garden and disappears inside. It’s a full moon tonight, so bright that they probably don’t need the lantern to light the way.

He takes a deep breath, trying to push away the memory of those stern faces. He’s not a coward, he tells himself. It’s just that it’s impossible to be braver than Madeline, who laughs at tigers and near drownings, who doesn’t seem scared of anything. 

"Pepito!"

He steps inside and closes the gate behind him. The click of the lock nearly makes him jump. The overwhelming scent of flowers — for Madeline’s parents are very devoted gardeners, as Madame and Monsieur Pontmercy were — tickle at his nose. He’s trying to fight a sneeze when Madeline says, her voice quiet and gentle in a way he’s never heard before, “Hello, pépère.” 

Pepito freezes, his nose still scrunched up and his lip caught between his teeth. He watches Madeline smile up at the ghost, who is, he thinks with a sinking feeling, as solemn Pepito feared. The ghost has a grave, weathered face, and there is something in his eyes that makes Pepito think of bad things, like when he was so homesick for Paris and Madeline and the girls that he’d gotten sick.

But then Madeline says, “I am home for a holiday, pépère,” and the ghost smiles. It is a warm, pleased smile and chases the grief away from his face, like a sudden burst of sunlight. 

"You will tell me everything, I hope," the ghost says, and one corner of his mouth creases, as though laughing at a private jest. "How is Mademoiselle Cavel? And the girls? And Genevieve?" 

"Of course I will tell you everything!" Madeline says, laughing. "But I brought you a visitor tonight." She turns and gestures at Pepito. "Pépère, this is Pepito. Pepito, this is Grand-père Jean."

As Pepito steps forward and tries to remember how to smile, the ghost’s own smile fades. His eyes are piercing, his look pensive, and Pepito thinks suddenly of what stories Madeline might have told during the first few months they knew each other. He hopes she did not tell him about the cat. Pepito’s smile turns into a grimace. “Good evening, monsieur,” he says, awkwardly, and wonders if he should bow. 

"Pépère," Madeline says, half-chiding, when Grand-père Jean remains silent. When Pepito darts a glance at her, he sees she has her hands on her hips. "Pepito is good now, remember? The girls and I have cured him of being a bad hat."

"Yes, I remember," Grand-père Jean says. Still, his smile is slow in returning. He turns away from Pepito, who feels as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and his smile strengthens. "Have you had many adventures at school?" 

Madeline smiles that familiar fearless grin. “Oh, yes.” She steps closer to Grand-père Jean, her hand swinging out as though she would clasp his hand if she could. “Mademoiselle Cavel says hello, and to thank you for the advice on her garden. We have the most delicious strawberries now!” 

Grand-père Jean’s smile returns. He seems to have forgotten Pepito entirely, for which Pepito is grateful. One of Grand-père Jean’s hands, which even insubstantial seems callused and strong, reaches out. He traces Madeline’s hair and cheek, ghostly fingertips not quite touching. “Are strawberries your favorite then?” he murmurs, and there is something half-pleased, half-pained in his smile now. “Cosette loved strawberries.”

"No, pépère, I like blueberries the best. But there were some awful crows that kept trying to eat the strawberries. They were not afraid of us, or Genevieve, though she barked her fiercest at them." Madeline sounds vaguely admiring of the crow’s fearlessness. "It was Pepito who thought of a way to keep them from eating all the strawberries. He is very clever, for a boy."

Pepito attempts another smile when Grand-père Jean looks at him once more. “It wasn’t so very clever,” he says, attempting modesty, and is not surprised when Madeline laughs at him. 

"Come! Pepito is an inventor like you, pépère," Madeline says. She adds with a toss of her head and a proud smile, "Grand-père is very smart, Pepito. He could teach you a thing or two. He knows all about gardens and had a factory that made jewelry and was the mayor of an entire town—"

Pepito did not know ghosts could blush.

"Madeline," says Grand-père Jean, almost in protest. "You are exaggerating."

She wrinkles her nose at him. “No, I’m not. You _do_ know everything about gardens, and you _did_ own a factory, and you _were_ a mayor—”

"Madeline," Pepito says, for her grandfather is blushing silver and looks embarrassed. "It really wasn’t so very clever," he says. "We needed someone to stand guard because the crows weren’t fooled by scarecrows and Genevieve could not guard the strawberries every second. And we didn’t want to harm the crows. So I made a scarecrow that moved like a real person."

"Oh?" Grand-père Jean focuses on him now, but it’s a different type of intensity than before. Curiosity warms his weathered face. The corners of his mouth creases again, like a silent laugh. "And I suppose Madeline helped you. She is very clever herself, you know."

"Yes, monsieur," Pepito says even as Madeline smiles at them both. The cold night wind sends a shiver through him, curls his toes against the chilled stone. "Though we’re not so clever, forgetting shoes," he adds with a rueful laugh. 

" _I_ am not cold," Madeline remarks, and her superior smile pricks at Pepito’s pride. 

He lifts his chin and says hotly, “I’m not cold. I only thought _you_ might be. You are smaller, after all.” 

Even as Madeline flushes, Grand-père Jean coughs. When Pepito looks at him, he looks a little amused. “Perhaps you both should fetch shoes,” he suggests gently. “Your holiday will be spoiled if you catch a cold. I will wait for you here.” 

"I am not cold," Madeline says again. She huffs out a breath and makes a face in Pepito’s direction. "But if it is to keep Pepito from getting sick, we will wear shoes. We will be back soon, pépère." She presses a kiss to her fingertips and then holds her hand out to Grand-père Jean.

Grand-père Jean smiles again, that same dazzling smile of before, and then bends a little, so that her fingers almost touch his ghostly cheek. “I will wait for you,” he says again, softly. 

"Well?" Madeline demands once they are back in the house, her lantern lighting their way once more. 

She doesn’t have to say anything else. Pepito knows what she is asking. He thinks of Grand-père Jean’s solemness giving way to delight, his flushed pleasure at Madeline’s compliments, the tender gentleness in his almost touches of Madeline. 

"I like him," he says at last. "I like him very much."

"I knew you would," Madeline says, smug.  


End file.
